Has Passed
by ican-whoawhoawhoawhoawhoa
Summary: In which Tegan reminisces.


I remember when things were so much simpler than they are now. We could hold hands, hug, and walk together without people pointing or asking us questions. Our career, when we first started, was much less stressful. I remember sitting outside in the fresh air, under the white tent, waiting for our names to be called so we could go up and play. I remember when we fought so much because we didn't believe we could make it, and we were so, so scared. I remember, as if it were yesterday, when we won the garage contest and our jaws dropped to the floor. You turned around with a smile that I'll never forget and your eyes shining. We had made an uproar at the end of our song, but you were so much more excited than I'd expected you to be. I was happy to see you grinning so wide and I cherished that moment; it was rare. We started recording by ourselves in high school, sending out CDs to our friends and classmates whether it was okay in the school rules or not. We wanted, so badly - and, I think you more than me - to have a career in music. You wanted to be known, and I could hear that in your voice. You hadn't known what you wanted until it was an option, but that was okay, and I stood by your side for that, no matter how unsure you got. I followed you without question, because that's what I do. However, now that we've hit it big and everyone wants to know our business, I miss our neighbourhood, with stories hidden under crisp dirt, the kids we knew and how innocent we were. I miss how low-key we had been, and how I could be close to you without our every move being watched. I miss when people weren't crowding around us. Everything started changing and the sun became a heavy weight on our heads, weighing us down as we were thrust from our darkness and into the midst of the public eye; the ocean becoming a drowning memory of what was rather than a place of familiar refuge. Everything that had been symbolic and everything that was once untainted and special was now visible, corrupted by the ideas and theories of people who couldn't even begin to understand us.

Our moment has passed and I'm left to wallow in my own sad nostalgia as you move on to bigger things, raising the bar as you go. You don't leave me behind, but you don't pull me with you. I can see it on your face - this is what you've wanted all along. You have the chance to show people what you're really made of now, to make a difference in the mainstream music you so despise. I can see it now, and I won't get in the way. I remember I wanted this, too, before it all became so confusing for me. When people weren't bringing it up, when people weren't asking me questions that I didn't know the answers to, I could act like it was nothing. We weren't big scale back then, so people didn't care about what we did. It's different now, and as time progresses, we only fall deeper into the fame that brings cameras that never leave us to our privacy. You wear clothes now that we previously would have shrank back from, and I follow suit because I know you're self-conscious about doing things alone.

I remember our first big concert. The lights swamped us in fear and nerves, how sweaty our hands got as we waited for our cue to go up. You looked so distressed as you stepped out on stage in front, trying your hardest to set an example for me, as if I were going to misbehave at our first show, as if I would do anything like that to you. I remember when my strings broke and you had to continue without me as I laughed it off, but on the inside I was a wreck thinking about how important that one moment was to you. We left the stage and cried because we thought we'd done such a horrible, horrible job. You packed your things on the floor, refused to look over your shoulder as I watched, convinced that I had ruined everything. You avoided talking to me until our tour manager walked in and attempted to congratulate us, pausing to question why you were acting so frigid when we'd made such a great impact on the crowd. I remember that, at that moment, your shoulders relaxed almost as quickly as if you'd been unfrozen from a state of hypothermia, and the weight settling in my chest disappeared at the sight. You apologised with a quick hug then.

I can remember when I brought you back home to Calgary for the summer. We were sitting outside under the shade of the tree; you were quiet for once and didn't complain about the heat. You had your eyes closed and your head resting against the tree behind us with a slight smile. I wanted to ask you what it was all about, but I let you remain in your private world for as long as you needed, because I knew that once we got back to the press and the flashing cameras, you'd be stoic once more. I remember how you relished in the light breeze that was so foreign to the weather we experienced on the road, ever-changing and bitter. I remember holding your hand as I helped you climb out the window of our small house, taking the blame when we got back. You didn't want to sneak out alone because of the bad reputation our block had, I accompanied you through the dark streets as we made our way back to the playground we'd frequented as kids. You were cold and I gave you my coat; it meant nothing back then.

I want to be taken back to the place where you leant forward with your chin in your palm, elbows on your knees and asked me if we were doing good. I remember then, when we could escape into the streets at midnight, and love was so abundant and so undeniable that neither of us cared about what we were doing, and when nobody else cared, either; you put your hand over mine and declared with bright shining eyes that this was it. You thought we'd hit it big then. You only wanted my attention then, and that's how you reeled me in for the rest of forever.

You'll always have me, Sara, and I'm sure you'll always be mine.


End file.
